


Love Me 'til the Walls Give In

by thecarlysutra



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Branding, Dom/sub, Dominance, Embarrassment, Forced Nudity, Hand Feeding, Inspection, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Sexual Submission, Nudity, Orgasm Control, Punishment, Secrets, Situational Humiliation, Submission, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26918548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: Ray gets caught in the lie he's been living his entire adult life, and is sentenced to submissive rehabilitation. His world is falling down around him, and the very last thing he expects is to find love.A modern, D/s AU ofThunderheart. This one is darker and closer to canon than "Carry You," and they do not exist in the same universe.Title from Sia's "House on Fire."
Relationships: Walter Crow Horse/Ray Levoi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	1. Rules

  
_Babe, oh I want to drink you in_  
_Like oxygen, like oxygen_  
_Baby, I'm a house on fire_  
_And I wanna keep burning_

_Boy, I'm going up in flames_  
_And you're to blame_  
_Yeah, you're to blame_  
_Baby, I'm a house on fire_  
_And I want to keep burning._

\- Sia, "House on Fire" 

It had been the worst month of Ray's life, and it was, he imagined, about to get worse. He'd gotten up early, wincing in the shower as the beating water hit the fresh wound on the right side of his neck, and the older one on his left side below his last rib, and arrived at his eight o'clock appointment with time to spare. He sat in his car for a while, looking at the building, watching people enter through the big, glass doors. It looked like any other professional building, fairly nondescript with a pale concrete facade and grey windows. As far as he could see inside were marble floors and a large reception area with furniture in dark wood. It could have been a bank, or a doctor's office, or a courthouse. Ray had been inside those before. This was a submissive agency, and he'd never stepped foot in one. 

Now he had no choice. Five minutes before his appointment, he sighed and left his car, forcing himself to walk through the glass doors and up to reception. 

He gave his name, and soon after was directed to room 56. It was down on the basement level, a floor below the lobby, which unnerved him a bit, and as he walked down the stairs and then through the halls, he tried to breathe through his nerves. 

Every door he passed was closed. They were identified simply by number. He wished he could peek into some of the rooms to get an idea of what went on down here, but it wasn't an option. 

He reached 56 and knocked. There was no answer, so he tried the handle; the door opened, and he entered the room. The lights were on: bright, unsympathetic fluorescents. The walls were white and the ceiling was white and the floor was white, and Ray felt like he was inside a refrigerator. Or a prison cell. The room was about ten feet by ten feet, and there was a metal table in the center with a chair on either side; it was the exact same setup as an interrogation room. He was familiar with those. Ray took a seat, and then he took a deep breath and waited for his interrogator to arrive. 

At exactly eight o'clock, the door at the back end of the room opened, and a man stepped into the refrigerator room. He was a couple inches shorter than Ray, warm brown skin, glossy dark hair worn loose and running halfway down his back, kind eyes with laugh lines. He was dressed casually in worn blue jeans, a flannel shirt rolled up at the elbows, and cowboy boots. 

"Mr. Levoi," the man said, and held out his hand. "Walter Crow Horse. I'm your rehabilitator." 

Ray shook Walter's hand, then watched him as he sat down on the other side of the table, slapping a thick file down in front of him. The first two letters of Ray's last name were on fat stickers on the file's front, and the tab read: LEVOI, RAYMOND 6/22/90.

"You're not what I expected," Ray said into the absence of a safe topic. 

Walter gave him a look he couldn't quite read. "You either. Is it Raymond, or Ray?" 

Ray looked at him. He crossed his arms over his chest. He tried to pretend he couldn't feel his jaw jerking. His oral tic was always more active when he was stressed. 

"That's the easiest question you're gonna answer today, and you best not fight me on it," Walter said. "I know the kind of month you've had, and I think that you should know that I have all the power in this relationship. What I tell your employers and the local submissive board is going to affect whether you keep that job and what kind of dominant and restrictions you're placed under once your rehabilitation is over. You can fight me all you want, but you're only hurting yourself."

Ray's jaw jerked. He looked at the table. "It's Ray."

"Thank you, Ray. You can call me Walter. I also expect you to call me sir when it's appropriate, but we're going to work on that. Why don't you tell me why you're here?" 

Ray's eyes flickered down to the file, and then up to Walter's face. "It's in my file. I'm sure you've read it." 

"Yes, I have. But I'd like to hear it from you." 

"Why?" 

"Because I want to know how you see it, and I have some questions for you. But the correct answer was, 'Yes, sir,' and then doing what I asked you to." 

Ray felt himself go hot. He ground his molars together. 

"Tell me why you're here, Ray," Walter said again. "I can do this all day." 

"I lied about my status when I joined the FBI." 

"Didn't they check your papers?" 

"Of course. I had them forged." 

Walter gave him a sharp look. "You did?" 

"Yes." 

"Because it says here that you've been lying about your status since you were tested. You were a minor then; it makes more sense that your parents had your papers forged. Bribed someone at the determination center, maybe, so they marked you as dominant?" 

Ray felt a chill go through him. 

"I didn't say that," he said stiffly. 

"No, you didn't," Walter agreed, "and I'm not going to pursue it. Why did you lie about it?"

"I wanted to join the FBI." 

"You could have done that as a submissive. Been an analyst, an evidence technician—" 

"That's not what I wanted." 

"And there were other things you didn't want," Walter said. "A dominant looking after you? Telling you what to do? A database following you, laws binding you?" 

"Nobody knew the difference—" 

"Until what, Ray? What happened?" 

Ray exhaled slowly. "I got stabbed, on the job. They took me into emergency surgery."

"And they almost killed you on anesthesia, because they thought you were a dominant and didn't know you only needed half the dose." 

Ray lowered his eyes. 

"That's right," he said softly. 

"So you lied. You committed fraud. You almost got yourself killed. What I want to know—and this isn't in your file, Ray, but I believe you know the answer—is why the FBI didn't fire you. Why they didn't throw you in jail." 

Ray was quiet. 

"Tell me, Ray," Walter said. 

Ray looked at him. "I am very good at my job. I'm a deep cover operative. That isn't just training; there's an inherent … temperament, I guess, that makes you useful for deep cover. They want to keep using me." 

Walter nodded. "That, I believe. They're not letting you off with a slap on the wrist, though, are they?" 

Walter eyed the brand on Ray's neck, two interlocked circles: The sigil of bonds, marking him as a submissive. Ray flushed. He hated it. It was there, forever, somewhere he couldn't cover it up. He would have preferred prison time. 

"No," he said softly, "they are not." 

"That would not have been my choice for a first offense," Walter said, "even as long-running as yours was. I think it's harsh." 

Ray didn't say anything. He wasn't sure why Walter had told him that: If he was playing good cop, if he was trying to show Ray he was on his side. He knew that wasn't true. No one was on his side. 

"You will be here from eight to three Monday through Friday unless I say otherwise, until such a time as I consider your rehabilitation complete," Walter said. "Is that understood?" 

Ray nodded. 

"We're going to go over rules and procedures today," Walter continued. "I'll be acting as your dominant while you're here, and I know you don't understand how to act in that relationship, but that's a big part of what you're here to learn. As your dominant, I make the rules, and I will enforce them. You break a rule, you get punished. Simple."

Ray managed to keep a neutral expression on his face. "Simple."

"Rule number one: You respect me, I respect you. I will not tolerate disrespect from you. I already know you don't want to be here, so showing me your displeasure through being surly or rude or difficult is not necessary. I will treat you respectfully, and you will do the same for me. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Rule number two: You will be obedient. I tell you to do something, you do it. There are a number of ways to measure this. For example, if you are late getting here, that is disobedience, as I told you to be here at eight. That will be punished. It may be tempting to try and subvert me in small ways, but I would advise you to suppress that urge. I have been doing this a long time. I'm older than you, and I've seen more. You are not going to outwit me. If you can think of it, I guarantee someone's already tried it. Do you understand everything I just said?"

"Yes." 

Walter nodded. "Good. That's good. You're doing well, and I appreciate it. Rule number three: You will be honest and open. I am going to look at every aspect of your life, and you are going to be cooperative and tell me what I need to know. You are not going to hide things from me, and you are not going to lie to me. Everything I do, I am doing for your own good, even if it doesn't feel like it. Do you understand me, Ray?"

"Yes, I do." 

"Good boy. This doesn't have to be an unpleasant process. Do you know how colts are broken? I don't want to do that, Ray, but I'll have to if you make me. If you follow the rules and cooperate with me, this will be easy on both of us. I don't want to change who you are as a person. I don't want to shut you up. You can ask me questions; if you can be respectful about it, I will work with you to change things that are hard for you or that you don't like so that they suit you. I'm not wiping your programming; I'm just teaching you a new skill set, Ray, understand?"

Ray swallowed thickly. "Yes. I think I do." 

"Good. That's good. Do you have any questions for me right now?" 

"No." 

"That's fine," Walter said. "You've had a hard couple of weeks, and I know today was a lot to take in. I'm going to let you go home, now, with the understanding that you're back here Monday morning at eight o'clock on the dot. Is that fair?" 

"Yes," Ray said. "Thank you." 

Walter stood, and eventually Ray was able to follow him. Walter walked him out the door, and then led him through the halls of the submissive agency basement level and to the elevator. He pressed the button for him, and stood with him while the elevator came down from the higher floors. 

"You can do this, Ray," Walter said. "I believe in you." 

The elevator doors opened, and Ray stepped on without saying anything at all. He couldn't find his voice. He hoped he hadn't lost it forever.  



	2. Inspection

  
It would have been a lie for Ray to say he didn't spend the weekend considering running. He was smart, competent, and he had learned a great deal from the FBI and especially his time underground that would help him stay off the grid. He could craft a new identity, become someone else. Live anonymously. 

Only he wouldn't be able to hide the brand for very long, and eventually he'd be asked for his papers. Even if he bought fake ones, if he was asked to produce a dominant, he would not be able to, and he'd be back in the same place he was now, or worse. And he didn't like the idea of not seeing his parents for the rest of his life, or, frankly, giving up everything he'd worked so hard for. Not just his job at the FBI, but his house, his reputation, his 401k. But he did price flights to various locations around the globe, even as the lead weight certainty that he was stuck with this lot in life sank in. 

Monday morning had him feeling dour, and he walked down the basement level halls of the submissive agency feeling like he was shouldering a thousand pound weight. 

Walter was waiting for him in the refrigerator room. He checked his watch when Ray came in, then smiled and said, "Good morning, Ray." 

"Good morning." 

He started to sit down at the interrogation table, but Walter shook his head. 

"No, we're done in here," he said. "For the rest of your rehabilitation, we'll be using the back room." 

Ray followed him through the door at the back of the room. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't _this_. The back room was much larger than the front room, about half the size of a basketball court. The lighting was gentler, warmer, and the floor was padded like a weight room. Two walls were painted copper, and the others a buckskin tan. There was a large, black wardrobe against the near wall, and beside it a piece of furniture Ray had never seen before. It looked almost like a picnic table, but it was made of black metal and padded, black leather. The lower bars—the picnic table's seats—had restraints on them, thick black leather cuffs with buckles, and instantly the image flooded his mind: How he would look lying prone on the tabletop, his limbs strapped down, still and compliant for whatever Walter wanted to do to him. Ray blushed, and looked away. Further down the room there was a king-sized bed with a black wood frame and dark bedclothes. It looked plush, comfortable, and the word that came into Ray's mind was _aftercare_. The other side of the room had a white board, a bookshelf full of books, a cupboard, a small refrigerator, and a set of table and chairs that would sit four people. At the end of the room there was some sort of rigging hanging from the ceiling, but nothing was attached to the hook. 

"Have a seat, please," Walter said. 

Ray sat down at the table. Walter stood next to him, leaning his hip against the table. 

"How was your weekend?" he asked. 

"Fine," Ray lied. "You?" 

"It was alright. Are you ready to work?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Don't overwhelm me with your enthusiasm," Walter said. He stood, walked into the room a few feet. "Come here." 

Ray walked over to him. He stopped about two feet away. 

Walter nodded at the floor. "Kneel." 

Ray's cheeks burned. "What?" 

"Get on your knees." 

"Why?" 

"Because I asked you to. Rule number two, Ray. Kneel." 

Ray felt resistance burn in his chest. He ground his molars together. Shook his head. "No." 

Walter's expression was kind. Forgiving. "I know you don't want to, Ray. I'm asking you to do it anyway. Please don't make me punish you on the very first task I give you." 

Ray chewed his lip. "Can it be something else? We can work up to this." 

"No," Walter said firmly. "Last chance: Kneel now, obediently, or accept the punishment, and then kneel afterwards." 

Resistance still burned in Ray's chest, but he wasn't stupid. Reluctantly, he dropped to his knees. 

"Good boy," Walter purred. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Ray didn't say anything. "Answer me, please." 

"It was hard," Ray bit out. 

Walter nodded. "Okay. That's okay, too. Why don't you sit back on your haunches." Ray did as he was told, finding a comfortable position on his knees. "Good boy. Hands on your thighs, palms down." Ray complied. "Excellent, Ray, you're doing well. This is a basic kneel. When I tell you to kneel, this is what I want. Understood?" 

"Yes." 

"Good. Ray, I've got a homework assignment for you: When you go home, tonight and every night this week, I want you to say, 'Yes, sir,' 'No, sir,' and, 'Thank you, sir,' ten times each. It doesn't have to be right away, but I want you to get comfortable dropping that 'sir' at the end of your replies to me. Understood?"

Ray felt a little color come to his cheeks. "Yes." 

"Good boy. Now stay on your knees, but spread your legs for me."

Ray's blush darkened, but he did as he was told. 

"Now bow down, so your forehead is touching the floor and your arms are extended out in front of you, one hand over the other, palms down." 

Ray hadn't wanted to kneel, and he definitely didn't want to perform this position, but he was determined not to be punished on his first day, so he obeyed. 

He had felt resentful kneeling. Assuming this position was something different. He felt small, dominated … 

"How do you feel?" Walter asked. 

It took Ray a minute to find the word. "Humble." 

"Very good. That's the name of this position, Ray. I'm sure you understand why." 

"Yes." 

"You can get up, now. Off your knees." 

Ray stood. He felt a little woozy, and wasn't sure why. 

"Stand up straight, legs together, arms down by your sides." Ray obeyed. "This position is called _attention_. It is an appropriate way to face your dominant when he is speaking to you. Now, spread your legs shoulder-width apart, and fold your arms behind your back." Ray assumed the position. "This is _wait_ , essentially a relaxed version of _attention_. One more. Hands on the back of your head, fingers laced together." Ray moved as he'd been directed. "This position is called _inspection_ , and it's for exactly what it sounds like. If I want to take a good look at you, I will have you assume this position. You can relax, now." 

Ray exhaled, and dropped his arms to his sides. 

"You're doing well, Ray," Walter said. "Now, I would like you to take your clothes off and assume the position _inspection_." 

Ray lost his breath. "What?" 

"You heard me. Strip naked, and stand in _inspection_." 

"I don't—" 

"I know you don't want to. I'm not doing this to cause you discomfort; I'm doing this because I'm your dominant, and I need to inspect you. I know you've just had surgery, and I need to check on that, and I need to know some other things about your body that I can't get just by asking. One last time: Please remove your clothing and stand in _inspection_. If you don't, I will have several large dominants come and help you. Then afterwards, I will punish you by not letting you have your clothes back for the rest of our time today. It's your choice."

Ray worked his mouth wordlessly for a moment. He was flushed, and his sinuses pinched, and he realized with a wave of mortification that he was on the verge of tears. He took a deep breath, released it slowly. 

"I—do I have to undress in front of you?" 

Walter considered a moment. "No. Not today, you don't. I'll turn my back. Is that enough privacy?" 

Ray nodded. Walter turned around, his back to Ray, and Ray began to undress. He went slowly, because his hands were shaking and because he had injuries, and he folded his clothing as he removed it and set it down on the floor. When he was naked, he took another deep breath, let it out slowly. Then he got back into position, legs shoulder width apart, hands on the back of his head, fingers laced together. 

His voice was rough, but it came out strong. "I'm ready." 

Walter turned back to him, and then closed the distance between them, so that they were about six inches apart. 

"Good boy," he said, and Ray's cheeks burned hotter. He stared at the wall while Walter looked him over. With him this close, he could smell his cologne, warm and earthy with a sweet spice note. It reminded him, sharply and without warning, of his mother's apple crumble, and he tried to stuff that memory away. 

Walter touched him lightly, gently turning Ray's face to the left to better see his brand. 

"It looks like you're keeping this clean," Walter said. "It's a little angry; did they give you some cream for it?" 

"No." 

"Okay, I'll make sure to get you some to take home with you tonight. It'll help it heal faster, and help with the pain." 

"Um, thank you." 

"You're welcome," Walter said. 

With his light touch, he turned Ray's face to the right, and then back facing straight forward, his dark eyes parsing Ray's face for … what? Ray didn't know what he was looking for, but Walter was studying him intently. He worked down Ray's body, occasionally touching him with his light touch. He didn't speak again until he was at the bandage over Ray's stab wound. 

"I'm going to lift the bandage and take a look, okay?" Walter said. "I'll make sure it's dressed before I let you go." 

"Okay." 

Walter lifted the bandage carefully, studied the wound a moment. "This is how old, a month?" 

"No. They had to go back in a week later because of—something about the cavity left when the knife went in… actually, I don't really understand it, but they had to do a second surgery while I was still in the hospital." 

"Okay. It looks like it's healing up well, though. You taking care of it, following doctor's orders?" 

"Yes." 

"Still on the pain pills?" 

"A little. I'm down to taking half a pill twice a day. I'm switching over to ibuprofen a little at a time; they told me to taper off slowly." 

Walter smoothed the bandage back down. "Okay, that's good. Just stay on top of it." 

"I will." 

Walter was quiet for the rest of the inspection, but he took his time. Once he was satisfied, he gave a nod. "All right. You can get dressed now. Would you like me to turn around again?" 

"Yes." 

Walter turned his back, and he spoke as Ray got dressed. "Aside from that little hiccup at the beginning, you did that very well, Ray. I'm proud of you." 

"Um, thanks." 

"You're welcome," Walter said. "And just so you know, we will be doing an inspection just like this first thing every Monday morning, so do whatever you have to to get good with that." 

Ray frowned, but then he nodded—a reflex; Walter was still facing away from him. "Yeah, okay." 

"Good boy." 

The rest of the day was less painful. That night, Ray started undressing for bed, and then went ahead and stripped everything off. He stood in front of the full length mirror hanging on the back of the closet door, scrutinizing his reflection. What did Walter see when he looked at him? 

Finally, he found himself looking into his own pale eyes. It was then that he remembered his homework. 

"Yes, sir," he said, watching his mouth move in the reflection. "No, sir. Thank you, sir." 

He sighed. He didn't look any different, he guessed, with those words coming out of his mouth. He hated that he _felt_ different. He looked at the awful brand, and then he looked away.  



	3. Post-Orgasmic Chill

  
"Before we do anything today, I want you to put my number in your phone," Walter said. "I already put yours in mine. I want you to know that I am here as your dominant and rehabilitator, but also as your mentor, so if you need help with something or have questions, or just need to talk through something, you can call or text me anytime. Just be respectful of my time; don't call me at three a.m. unless it's important, got it?"

"Yes," Ray said. Then, a moment after, "Sir." 

Walter smiled. "Very nice. Good boy." 

Ray put Walter's number in his phone under Warden, then felt bad about it and changed it to Sir. Then he decided he didn't feel _that_ bad about it, and changed it to Walter. 

"I'm also buying you lunch today," Walter said. "The downside is that you have to eat here with me, but it's going to be a lesson, and I'll let you leave an hour early in exchange for making you work through lunch." 

The first few hours of the day were spent going over legal statutes concerning submissives and the dominant/submissive relationship, and Ray was bored out of his mind by the time Walter said they could break for lunch. Ray was thrilled to be released from the tedium, but he wanted a break from every aspect of this, and his enthusiasm waned when Walter reminded him he couldn't even leave the room. 

He recovered quickly, though, and made sure his disappointment didn't show on his face. He got up and stretched while Walter set up for lunch, but when he went to sit back down at the table, Walter shook his head. 

"No," he said. "Come over here." 

Ray walked to where Walter was standing. Walter pointed at the ground at his feet. "Kneel." 

Ray frowned, but he obeyed. Walter pulled his chair out and sat with Ray between his legs. 

"Keep your hands to yourself," Walter said. "You get one reminder; if I have to remind you twice, you're gonna get your bottom smacked." 

Ray blushed. Fidgeted. 

"Understood?" Walter pressed. 

"Yes." 

"So I just get one 'sir' today?" Walter asked. "That's okay. That's one more than yesterday, and it shows me you're making an effort. I appreciate that." He opened one of the containers of food; Ray craned his neck enough to see that there was some fruit salad. 

"Why do I have to be down here?" Ray asked. "What is this supposed to teach me?" 

"I could explain it to you, but you're a smart boy, and you're going to understand very quickly why I chose this exercise. Open your mouth." 

Ray's brow furrowed, but he did as requested. Walter selected a strawberry from the fruit salad, and brought it to Ray's mouth. Ray understood immediately that Walter wanted to feed him, but he didn't like it, and he still didn't understand the purpose of this. But he decided to play Walter's game long enough to figure out the reasoning behind it, so he ate the berry out of Walter's hand. 

Walter continued to feed him. It didn't take very long before Ray began to understand why Walter had decided to do this. It was very intimate, Walter controlling what he ate and how fast, Walter's fingers brushing his mouth as he guided the food in. But that wasn't the point. There was a finer point, and Ray, on his knees at Walter's feet, being fed by hand, felt himself steeping in it. 

"So, Ray," Walter said. "Why am I making you do this?" 

"It's about control. You control everything about this thing that I'm very used to controlling myself, and I'm letting you." 

"You're giving me control?" Walter asked. "There's a word for that. What is it?" 

Ray smiled wryly. "Submission." 

Walter smiled. "Very good, Ray. Well done. You can come up here and finish eating with me at the table, if you like." 

Ray started to get up, but he felt a little lightheaded. Walter offered him a hand up, and he took it. Walter helped him to his feet, and then helped him into a chair, and then set the rest of his lunch in front of him. 

Walter patted Ray's shoulder. "Good work today, Ray." 

Ray hated it a little, but he found himself appreciating the praise. 

"Do you date?" Walter asked after they'd cleaned up from lunch. 

Ray shrugged. "Sure." 

"Are you seeing anyone right now?" 

"No. Why?" 

"So you're not having sex with a partner, then. Do you masturbate?" 

Ray blushed. "Why are we talking about this?" 

"Because I want you to let me control an aspect of your life you're used to controlling yourself. Just like lunch. Answer the question." 

"Yeah, I do. Everyone does, right?" 

"How often do you masturbate?" 

Ray squirmed. "I don't know, a couple—a few—times a week?" 

Walter nodded. "Okay. Starting today, I want you to ask me permission before you touch yourself." 

Ray's cheeks burned. "How am I supposed to do that?" 

"You put my number in your phone, didn't you? Call or text asking permission." 

"And if I don't?" 

"If you don't, and you masturbate without my permission, I expect you to confess that to me the next morning and accept your punishment for disobedience." 

Ray ran his tongue over the ridges of his teeth. He huffed out a short breath. 

"I know you don't like it, Ray," Walter said. "I'm not doing this to upset you. I'm doing this to prepare you for life with a dominant. You will have to allow your dominant to control personal aspects of your life. Your finances, for instance, your health, and yes, probably your sex life. You will have to submit. And I cannot graduate you from this rehabilitation program until I am certain you are able to do that. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Ray said softly. 

"Good boy. Now, the choice is yours, but understand that the choice is ask for permission, or ask for forgiveness." 

"I understand." 

"Good. You're on the honor system here, Ray. I'm trusting you to be honest with me." 

That turned the knife in Ray's gut. He prided himself on being honest and trustworthy, and he knew he wouldn't be able to carry the guilt of abusing Walter's trust. His shoulders sank, but he nodded. "Yes, sir." 

***

That night, Ray lay on his back in his bed. He'd skipped his evening dose of the pain medicine, taking an ibuprofen instead; the pain wasn't too bad, but he felt too awake. He guessed he'd gotten used to the medicine getting him drowsy at night. He tested the edges of the bandage with his fingertips; it was tender, but the pain was less every day. He rested his hand on his belly for a moment before moving it lower. He grasped himself through his boxers, feeling his cock stiffen, but then he remembered he wasn't allowed. He thought about just forgetting about it, turning over and going to sleep. But he was still so wired… an orgasm would help him sleep. 

"Shit," he said, and then grabbed his phone off the nightstand.

  
Hi. Sir. Is it too late to text?  
  
Nope. What is it?  
  


Ray blushed. He chewed his lip. Then he swiped a quick message and sent it before he could talk himself out of it.

  
Can I please have permission to masturbate tonight?   
  


Ray watched the three little dots that meant Walter was typing his reply for what felt like an hour. Finally:

  
You may.   
  


Ray grinned.

  
Thank you!   
  
You're welcome. Then straight to bed with you! Be good. Goodnight.   
  


Ray tossed the phone back onto the nightstand, then caressed his cock through his shorts for a moment before reaching over to the bedside table for a squirt of lotion. He snuck his hand between the cotton of his boxers and his eager flesh and gripped his cock in his greased hand, one firm stroke from base to tip. He closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows, jerking himself off slowly, sinking down into the pleasure, flipping through his mental Roladex of reliable mental images: His college girlfriend's soft, bouncy, freckled breasts; getting fucked rough in the handicap stall of the bathroom of the gay club he liked… and then, unbidden: Walter's fingers in his mouth, kneeling at his feet, standing before him naked, not moving a muscle because he'd been told to be still—

Ray came almost before he realized it was happening, shuddering, vision blurring out, gasping for air. He marinated in the post-orgasmic chill, the harsh kickback after all those pleasant neurotransmitters faded away. He'd thought about Walter. He'd thought about Walter dominating him, and it got him off. Ray felt self revulsion roil through him, and he yelled and punched his pillow until his shoulder hurt, then collapsed into it, facedown. What the fuck. What the _fuck_?  



End file.
